


Thank You, Jack Daniels

by SixtySevenChevy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drunkenness, How Do I Tag, M/M, outside pov, plot twist ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SixtySevenChevy/pseuds/SixtySevenChevy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack just wanted to go out and get wasted, drink his feelings away, that sort of thing. He didn't count on being forced to watch as three men laughed and talked nonsense. He needs to be a lot drunker for this.</p>
<p>Or, a look at Dean, Sam, and Cas from an outside perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank You, Jack Daniels

Jack downs his shot and shakes his head, unable to forget her pretty face. Black hair and green eyes and creamy skin add up to a face that he can’t seem to shake loose. She was gorgeous, and funny, and smart, and married. Very, very married.

Jack orders another shot—his third—and downs that, too. Of course she left him. Why would she choose him over her husband? The spouse is a doctor, and not too shabby-looking to boot. Jack, well, Jack is a temp who worked in his office once. It only makes sense (painful, painful sense) that she’d break it off with the lesser man.

The bell over the bar’s door dings and Jack flinches. These days, he’s perpetually hung-over, and the bell is not helping. Dad always said, the only sure-fire cure for a hangover is to not quit drinking, and Jack is sure taking that advice. He ignores that fact that his dad died years ago in a drunk-driving incident.

The men who just walked in take seats at the bar on Jack’s right. They’re tall, buff, and handsome. Each of them in wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a jacket on top, along with boots. The one with green eyes is wearing a bracelet, too. Jack orders a beer.

“I don’t get how you could possibly think that!” the tallest one half-shouts. The other two laugh and Jack takes a swig from his bottle. “Vampires are way cooler than werewolves!”

Oh great, they’re into all that vampire crap the kids love so much nowadays. God, Jack is only twenty-six, and these guys make him feel ancient. They’re even older than he is, for God’s sake! He shouldn’t feel so old and out of it already. Maybe he just needs to get drunker. That could probably solve a few problems, not the least of which is his lovely, amazing, and decidedly _gone_ girl.

“Nah, man, werewolves are better. They kill people less often, and in more creative ways. I mean, when’s the last time you saw a vamp trail somebody for months, waiting for the kill?” the bracelet guy argues. The bartender interrupts their discussion to bring them a round of beers. Jack, suddenly remembering his own, takes a long pull.

“Actually, I prefer demons,” says the last one, and whoa, he has a deep voice. He looks uncomfortable, and Jack sympathizes. He’d be embarrassed too if he were dragged out into public with a couple of loons. “Easier to get rid of.”

“C’mon, Cas,” the tallest one deadpans. “ _You_ cannot possibly prefer demons. You, of all people.” The one obviously named Cas (weird name, it must be short for something, Jack thinks) shrugs and brings his bottle to his lips. The other two follow his example.

“They _are_ easier to get rid of, you have to admit, Sammy,” Bracelet-And-Princess-Eyes says to Gigantic-Overgrown-Moose-Man. Deep-Voice-Whose-Name-Is-Cas laughs and nods along. Moose—Sammy—glares at them both. Jack gets the feeling they’ve had this exact argument before. “I mean, you love demons, don’t you?”

Sammy blushes and looks down at the grainy wood of the bar. “That was years ago, Dean,” he mutters. “I wasn’t thinking right. You were dead.” Jack chokes on his beer. He must’ve heard that wrong.

“True,” Princess-Eyes-Who-Must-Be-Named-Dean agrees and orders another round. The bartender hands the trio a bottle each. Sammy chugs most of his in one go, which leads to Dean trying to do the same. Both men can only get about half the bottle down before coming up for air. Jack is impressed, but he nearly falls off his stool when Cas pops the cap off and drains the whole bottle.

“What did I say about drinking like that?” Dean says, sounding like a mother scolding her child. He sounds like he cares a lot about him, even though Cas seems like he can handle himself. Anyone who can chug that big of a beer in one go without cracking even a smile is pretty hardcore.

“You said not to. And I said that I can do what I want,” Cas states primly. Sammy laughs and slaps him on the back. Dean sputters and, not able to find the words, takes a swig off his bottle. 

“Whatever, man,” Dean mutters, sounding like he’s trying to be angry but just can’t. He’s smiling. “I’m still the one who protects you guys. I’m still the provider for this family.” Sammy pulls a face that Jack is intensely familiar with. Having grown up in a house with four sisters, he can translate it pretty easily. That is the face of a man who is fed up with his companions yet is still not drunk enough to just say _bitch, please_. Jack orders another beer.

“Are you forgetting who saved you from hell?” Cas asks. Jack’s pretty sure he’s too drunk to understand English, because this conversation is taking a turn for the strange. The very, very strange and slightly creepy.

Dean furrows his brow in mock concentration, pretending to be confused. Sammy, realizing what’s going on, buries his smile in his bottle while Cas grins. “Not really… Do you remember who he was? I think he was hot, but he was an ass anyway. I don’t really associate with asses.”

“I’ll show you who’s an ass,” Cas threatens quietly. Sammy snorts and bites his lip, massive body shaking with internalized laughter. Dean, taken aback slightly, takes a second to answer, but when he does, it’s well worth the wait.

“I bet you will,” Dean purrs, leaning into Cas’ personal space. “Just not when my baby brother is around, okay?” His voice is low and seductive, and Jack finds himself really, really confused. Isn’t he supposed to be pining after a woman? _Right, woman, with breasts and other woman things_ , Jack tells himself, forlornly sipping his beer. He can’t honestly remember how many he’s had. 

“I think I just threw up in my mouth,” Sammy announces, and Dean and Cas laugh. Jack notices that Cas tangles his fingers with Dean’s where Sammy can’t see them. Suddenly Jack understands, and damn it, how did he not see this earlier? Oh well, they’re still funny to watch. He’s never really had a problem with the gays anyway, so why get offended now?

“Good, or I would be worried. The thought of your brother and your best friend—” Dean is cut off when Sammy punches him in the arm, hard enough to send the barstool back onto two legs. Jack holds his breath, waiting for the inevitable bar fight to begin, but Dean just laughs.

“Bitch,” he breathes.

“Jerk,” Sammy replies.

“You’re both crazy,” Cas mutters, shaking his head fondly. 

Their conversation starts up again, arguing about something but not really arguing, laughing loudly and ordering more alcohol. Over the course of their next two rounds, Jack learns (or rather, infers) that Dean and Cas have been together for several years. Sammy is Dean’s brother, probably younger going by the way Dean treats him. They’re obviously very close, and they work together. Jack thinks they probably travel a lot for work, too, because Cas starts complaining about how his back hurts from sitting too much, which sets Dean off on a rant about how no one insults his baby. Sammy’s real name is Sam, but Dean calls him Sammy just to get under his skin. They have a rocky past, the three of them, but Jack can practically feel the love radiating off of them. The way they joke and rib each other says it all, but the way that a layer of sadness seems to fall off of them when they talk speaks volumes more.

“C’mon, lesgo back to our room ‘fore Cas starts babblin’ in Enochian,” Dean says, grinning at his partner’s laughing face. They’re all drunk, and Jack realizes belatedly that he is, too. “Ya know what ‘appens when he get too d-drunk.”

“Yeah, r-remember Utah? With the strippers an’ the glitter? An’ the oranges an’ the pr-pretzels?” Sammy slurs, and Jack really hopes he’s inventing this story on the spot, because strippers and pretzels do not go together, especially if you add oranges and glitter. And damn it, Jack really wants to hear the whole story.

“Do I ever,” Cas says, sounding oddly sober. “Remember how what’s-her-name, Susan or something, hit me with the baseball bat?”

“Oh, God,” Dean wheezes, holding onto the bar for support. Jack finds himself chuckling and staring at them. “An’ then I s-stabbed Marie.” Jack can’t find enough sobriety to be worried about that last statement, but obviously, the other two find it hilarious, and they’re roaring with laughter again. They clutch at each other as they stumble out of the door and down the block. Jack can hear their laughter as they go.

Glancing at the clock, Jack panics when he realizes that it’s almost last call, and he doesn’t have a way to get home. His friends would help him, but he hasn’t got any. The only one he had was Anastasia, and she’s gone back to her husband. Oh well. It never hurts to try.

Jack stumbles out of the bar and to the payphone on the corner. He digs in his pocket for change and come up with a quarter. His hands are shaking so badly that he drops it before he can get it in the slot, and it rolls onto the street. He stares after it, shrugs, and goes to pick it up.

He can hear the car coming but he doesn’t really care. Amazing what alcohol does to you.

He looks up into the headlights just as someone grabs him arm and yanks him onto the curb. He stumbles and grips the arm that’s got ahold of him so he doesn’t fall. He wants to cuss at whoever’s got him, but he can’t really remember how. 

“Are you stupid?” the man demands. Jack looks up and recognizes Dean from the bar. He must have changed his clothes, because now he’s wearing flannel instead of the t-shirt he had on earlier. Hell, he’s wearing a necklace now too. Sammy and Cas are nowhere to be seen.

“Hey bro,” Jack says, loudly and drunkenly. “How ya get a diff’rent shirt on so quick?”

“What?” Dean asks. He pushes Jack away. Jack laughs and waves his hands around, trying to point at Dean’s shirt but finding it harder than it should be. Dean frowns, and Jack notices that he looks sad. A lot sadder than he was in the bar. Maybe he got lost or something.

“Shirt. Ya had a diff’rent on a mint ago,” he insists. Dean raises one eyebrow, and gives Jack a look he’s familiar with from growing up with his sisters. This one says _are you crazy_. Jack laughs again, trying to remember how to stop.

“Alright, pal, take it easy. You’re really drunk,” Dean says, stating the obvious. 

“Yep,” Jack agrees. Dean shakes his head and catches Jack when he stumbles. “You are too. Or ‘t leas’ ya was a mint ago.”

“I’ve never—” Dean starts, but changes his mind in the middle of the sentence. “Oh. Okay. So, uh, where did you see me last?”

Jack points vaguely in the direction of the bar. He waves his finger around to make his point more obvious. “You was in air wit two other g-g-guys.” 

“Who?” Dean asks, perking up immensely. Jack laughs. Dean must be drunk off his ass to have forgotten his friends. They seemed to be having a lot of fun. Jack’s envious of them, he really is. If he had friends he loved that much—well, brother and boyfriend, but still—he wouldn’t forget them.

“Sammy an’ Cas, I think,” Jack says. “Yeah, them.”

Dean looks really relieved for some reason. “And we were… getting along?”

“Hell yeah. Laughin’ and carryin’ on an’ such. Drank a ton t-too. Haha, that’s a tongue twister!”

“And you’re sure it was us?”

“Yeah. You an’ yer brother an’ yer boyfriend. Drinkin’ and laughin’. Havin’ funnnn,” Jack slurs, stretching the “n” out as long as he can. Dean looks perplexed for a second.

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah, the short bro wit the deep v-voice. Blue eyes. Pretty.”

“Boyfriend,” Dean breathes. He stops breathing for a second, and Jack worries. Can’t be good, being drunk and not breathing. Although, if he’s drunk enough to forget his friends, he might have just forgotten. Jack contemplates hitting him or something to get him to breathe again.

“I have to go,” Dean says suddenly, turning on his heal. “Will you be okay?” he says as an afterthought, glancing over his shoulder. Jack blinks, confused at the question, until it clicks in his head.

“Yep. I got a girl t’ come an’ get me,” Jack says proudly. Dean nods and takes a step away. He stops suddenly, and turns back to Jack.

“What’s the date?” Dean asks. Jack laughs again. Damn, he must be really drunk. Not even Jack is that drunk. He can still remember the date, at least, although he can’t for the life of him remember why he’s been drinking in the first place.

“November s-s-second,” Jack slurs slowly. “Twenty- four… teen.”

Dean gasps a little and looks around, eyes wide and startled. Jack doesn’t really care anymore. Nice as he is, Dean is weird, and Jack’s tired of standing around. He just wants to go home. Even though he’s not really sure of how to get there.

“Twenty-fourteen,” Dean breathes. Then he smiles, big and wide, happy as he was ten minutes ago in the bar. He laughs, a loud bark in the night air. Jack finds himself chuckling along with him, although he’s not sure why the year is so funny.

“And there isn’t any Apocalypse? Nothing about a Croatoan virus? And Lucifer isn’t in charge?” Dean asks disbelievingly. Jack shakes his head and instantly regrets it when his head spins violently. He thinks he’s going to throw up soon. Hopefully he won’t do it on Dean’s boots.

“Dude, how d-drunk are ya?” Jack stutters.

Dean laughs again and shakes his head, still looking around with wonder and amazement. Jack looks too, to see if he can tell what’s so amazing. Everything looks the same: small buildings and tall trees lining an empty street in a small town. 

“Thank you,” Dean says earnestly. Jack nods a little and wishes fervently that his head would stop spinning. “Thank you so much, Mister..?”

“Jack,” Jack says. “’M name’s Jack Daniels.”

“Thank you, Jack Daniels,” Dean repeats, not even pausing to make fun of the name. He turns around and walks away, turning the corner and walking out of sight. Jack shrugs and finds a bench to sleep on for the night.

XXXXX

Several years earlier, Dean unlocked the door to the motel room and slipped in quietly. Upon hearing the snoring of his two companions, he turned on the lights. Sam snapped into a sitting position and fumbled under his pillow for his handgun, cursing and flopping back onto the bed when he saw it was Dean. Dean laughed and sat on the edge of the bed, and grabbed his brother and hugged him tight.

Ignoring Sam’s protests and shouts of “ _Get off me, you freak, what the hell?_ ” Dean let go and strode across the room to where Cas was sleeping on the other bed. Cas blinked when Dean sat down beside him and furrowed his brow when he saw the smile on Dean’s face.

What happened next had Sam shouting in protest and confusion, but Cas unable to shout anything at all. His mouth was a bit occupied.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a song by Devil Makes Three.
> 
> My first try with the html coding. Cut me a break if it doesn't go right.


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